#sutton cemetery

[dubmill]

Beddington, London; 13.12.2014

[civicopienso]

Trump Times: A San Francisco-based writer Joseph Sutton expresses his thoughts

With the recent antics of former President Donald Trump at Arlington National Cemetery hitting the newsfeed this past August, San Francisco-based writer, Joseph Sutton expressed his ire at the incident.

“Just yesterday (Sept. 3) it was reported that Trump now claims the incident at Arlington was a made up story,” said Sutton. In 2019 Sutton published a book of essays entitled, "Trump Times."

“From the 2016 primaries to the end of Donald Trump’s first year in office, I wrote a great deal about him in my journal," said Sutton. "I extracted my most pertinent thoughts about the man and presented them in "Trump Times," showing why Donald Trump is truly a menace to America’s institutions and ideals.”

Just recently, Sutton read Pulitzer-Prize-winning journalist Isabel Wilkerson’s book "Caste: The Origins of Our Discontent."

From her book, Sutton was able to gain an insight as to why Trump has maintained a “cult-like” status among his supporters.

“It just came to me after reading Wilkerson’s book,” said Sutton. “He feeds into the white peoples’ fear of being replaced by a non-white, diverse majority.”

This is something that sociologists and others have observed. They foresee that in a short period of time, the predominant white race in America that has persisted for four hundred years will not be the majority anymore. People of color will be the majority.

Author, William H. Fry published his findings in 2018 based upon current statistics. The Brookings Institute posted a commentary by Fry on its website.

As Fry initially stated. “New census population projections confirm the importance of racial minorities as the primary demographic engine of the nation’s future growth, countering an aging, slow-growing and soon to be declining white population. The new statistics project that the nation will become ‘minority white’ in 2045.”

“White people (those made up of primarily a European ethnic background) have historically been the central focus in society,” said Sutton. “I can see that now,” he said.

“Trump and his supporters," added Sutton, "continue to lie and try to persuade the American people to believe all sorts of propaganda, continually fueling fear and insecurity.”

Confusion about the role immigration plays in American democracy and the economy for example, is one issue Sutton sees that Trump uses as a “smoke screen” to distract the country from other important issues.

“That mantra Trump uses of ‘Make America Great Again,’ is a façade," said Sutton. "He uses it to dissuade the American people from trying to understand the world in the context of the actual situation of the 21st Century.”

“If Trump can use sentiment and nostalgia to get people to want to turn back to a previous era, he will,” said Sutton. “Just like he uses the big lie to frighten people into believing that the last election was rigged and stolen.”

Pointing out Trump’s attempts to avoid going to court, Sutton noted. “Trump has been indicted by the courts for criminal misconduct at least four times.”

Sutton is perplexed that the majority of the conservative U.S. Supreme Court this past July ruled that former presidents can never be prosecuted, that they're immune for actions relating to the core powers of their office. "As a result," said Sutton, "if Trump is elected president again, he will no doubt become a dictator.

“Even so," said Sutton, "I believe Trump is using every trick in the book to get back into the White House. The American people who support him, especially the white people, need to realize Trump has will kill Democracy in our country.”

“We wouldn’t have as much division in this country if Trump had conceded the 2020 election and hadn’t instigated the January 6, 2021 insurrection at the Capital building,” said Sutton.

Sutton who has been writing for over 50 years and has published over two-dozen books, perceives a nation divided and deceived by a megalomaniac billionaire.

“Trump seeks out heavy-handed world-leaders of questionable scruples like Russia’s Vladimir Putin and North Korea’s Kim Jong Un to validate him, while he ignores the proper protocols of diplomacy and U.S. policy and statesmanship.”

Sutton hopes that as the November election draws near, the American people will see through the illusion that Trump and his supporters have created in the last four years and that they vote sensibly and responsibly.

To learn more about writer Joseph Sutton and his book "Trump Times," visit his website.

[insidecroydon]

Council slammed over plans to create HMO in public cemetery

Residents in Beddington are up in arms over ‘insensitive’ council plans to convert a former caretaker’s lodge in a cemetery into an HMO – a house in multiple occupation – without consulting local residents. Haunting house: The Lodge at Bandon Hill Cemetery, which LibDems and Tories want to convert into homes for three immigrant families Bandon Hill Cemetery, on Plough Lane, Beddington, is jointly…

[morbidloren]

Death's Garden contributor: Christine Sutton

Death's Garden contributor: Christine Sutton

Christine Sutton is one of the remarkable women I’ve met through the Ladies of Horror group on Facebook. For Death’s Garden Revisited, she wrote a wonderful essay about her visit to the St. Louis No. 1 Cemetery in New Orleans — and her interaction there with someone who might not have been of this world. Officially, Christine Sutton is the author of multiple novellas and short stories ranging…

[blueiscoool]

Missing Pieces of 6th-Century Byzantine Bucket Finally Found at Sutton Hoo

While working at the Anglo-Saxon site of Sutton Hoo in England, archaeologists found the missing pieces of a 1,500-year-old copper bucket imported from Turkey. The bucket, which is at least a century older than the famed ship burial, may provide a window into how people lived in early medieval times.

A team of archaeologists, conservators and volunteers from Time Team, the U.K.'s National Trust and FAS Heritage discovered the metal fragments in late June during excavation and metal-detecting work at Sutton Hoo.

Sutton Hoo is best known for its magnificent seventh-century ship burial, whose 1939 discovery was featured in the 2021 movie "The Dig." But the burial was just one part of a complex of 18 separate burial mounds found near Suffolk in southeastern England, many of which contained jewelry and coins. Evidence of imported goods — including an Egyptian bowl, Eastern Mediterranean silverware and a Middle Eastern petroleum product called bitumen — has also been discovered at Sutton Hoo.

But the copper-alloy bucket, known as the Bromeswell Bucket, predates the ship burial by at least a century. The fragmented bucket, which was found in 1986, depicts a North African hunting scene featuring lions and a dog. It was likely produced in the sixth century in Antioch, Turkey, which was then part of the Byzantine Empire. An inscription in Greek on the bucket reads, "Use this in good health, Master Count, for many happy years," suggesting that it may have been a diplomatic gift.

The artifacts uncovered last month were decorated with figures similar to those on the original find. So the team employed X-ray fluorescence (XRF) — which is used to determine which elements are present in an object and to create a unique elemental "fingerprint" of the artifact — to confirm that the newly recovered fragments are indeed part of the sixth-century Bromeswell Bucket.

"Thanks to closer inspection, we now believe that the bucket had been previously damaged and then repaired," Angus Wainwright, a regional archaeologist in the East of England for the National Trust, said in a statement. "In-depth analysis of the metals suggests it might even have been soldered back together."

Although East Anglia has been occupied since at least 3000 B.C., when Sutton Hoo was in use as a cemetery in the sixth and seventh centuries, the area was relatively densely populated and part of a busy trade network. The Sutton Hoo treasures represent diverse objects, including pagan and Christian artifacts, brought there from all over Europe and the Middle East. The ship burial and cosmopolitan nature of Sutton Hoo may even link it to the Old English epic poem Beowulf, which includes tales of gift-bestowing kings from far-flung lands and was composed around the same time.

"It's hoped that this two-year research project will help us learn more about the wider landscape at Sutton Hoo and the everyday lives of the people that lived there," Wainwright said. "So, this find is a great step on that journey."

By Kristina Killgrove.

[plangentia]

sutton hoo, suffolk - 19th october 2024

starting a little travel diary for my day trips! although i failed miserably to take many photos at sutton hoo, it was a lovely place to visit!

Sutton Hoo is the site of an Anglo-Saxon cemetery with approximately twenty tumuli and numerous other burials. The most notable of these burials is Mound 1, which was one of the few tumuli that was not robbed. Mound 1 is a ship-burial and most likely the richest of the graves (although this is hard to prove since most of the graves were robbed between 1500 and 1800).

Although nothing remains of the ship itself due to the acidity, the form of the ship was preserved almost entirely in the discolouration of the sand. The artefacts from the burial are extremely high-quality, with hundreds of garnets, gold, and high quality engraved metalworking (including the helmet above). The artefacts are now kept at the British Museum with replicas kept at the site itself.

There's much debate as to the identity of the individual buried in Mound 1, but the National Trust believe it is Raedwald, an Anglo-Saxon king from the 7th Century CE. The British Museum hedges their bets more and just states that the burial is that of an Anglo-Saxon king.

A very interesting day out!

(photo 1: mound 1 with metalwork representing the bow of the ship.

photo 2: reconstruction of the helmet from Mound 1)

[princessanneftw]

A rare insight into the usually unreported work of Princess Royal

Visiting military graves of unsung heroes was fitting appointment for perhaps the hardest working member of Royal family

By Victoria Ward for The Telegraph

Of the many war heroes buried in the windswept Dover chalk grassland is one Sgt Maj Charles Wooden, who was awarded the Victoria Cross after saving a fellow soldier’s life under heavy fire during the Battle of Balaclava.

The Princess Royal studied his grave closely as she was told he was “a bit of a drunkard” who had unfortunately met a sad demise.

Suffering from excruciating toothache, he had tried to dislodge the offending tooth with his gun, only to blow his brains out. “The ultimate pain killer,” the Princess, 72, observed drily, with the wry humour that is never in short supply.

Another, Gunner Andrew McDowell, had been blown to bits as he sat with two other soldiers in Dover harbour out of sight but directly in the firing line of a new 42-pound cannon.

The firing party thought someone said “fire” and duly fired. Gunner McDowell’s arm was found in the local town. The Princess peered closely at his newly restored grave, decorated with a cannon. “It’s almost adding insult to injury putting a gun on there, isn’t it?” she remarked.

The Princess, patron of The Remembrance Trust, was at St James’s cemetery, in Dover, Kent, to inspect its latest work restoring the military graves and memorials of those who made the ultimate sacrifice.

It was the second engagement of at least four on her itinerary, but as a royal who opts to get on with her work under the radar, most of it – as always – will go unreported.

However, on Tuesday, The Telegraph was invited to join the Princess as she travelled to Kent for an update on the work of the Trust, of which she became patron in 2021.

Engaged and unguarded, she delighted the small band of charity trustees and council dignitaries with her easy humour and obvious interest. “You can’t fake that kind of fascination,” one observer said later. “She’s great fun and you can talk to her like a normal human being.”

The Princess, accompanied by her husband Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence, 68, made a point of chatting to each member of the small gang of around 15 that was on hand to greet her.

Introduced to charity trustee and “tomb expert” Dr Roger Bowdler, she joked: “See tomb, will travel.”

Darren Solley, head of parks and open spaces at Dover District Council, told the Princess he was trialling a new approach to managing the cemetery land by leaving much of it to grow wild, improving biodiversity.

“It’s quite a difficult balance, rewilding,” she commented. “Actually, you do look after it but it doesn’t look like it.”

Warming to the theme, she continued: “You do have to cut it but it’s when you cut it that’s key – and what you do with the leftovers.”

Former corporal Steve Davies, a military grave restorer who has worked with the trust since its inception and preserved six of the seven graves on the Princess’s one-hour tour, proved an enthusiastic and informative guide.

The Restoration Trust returns graves to their former glory while at the same time creating a database spanning more than 200 years.

Founded and chaired by North Sea oil pioneer and former Grenadier Guards officer Algy Cluff, 83, it has a vast remit covering an undefined period up until 1914. He was motivated to help future generations understand the nation’s military past after working on the graves of British troops killed abroad.

Those killed from 1914 onwards have their graves kept by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, funded by the Commonwealth governments, but those killed earlier fall through the cracks, their headstones left to fall to ruin.

One of those whose grave has been lovingly restored is Maj Gen William Sutton, who received the Second China War medal and Companion of the Order of the Bath but who requested none of the usual pomp and circumstance at his funeral and asked to be buried in a common grave alongside soldiers of other ranks.

It was fortuitous then, that of all the well-known faces to visit his resting place almost 160 years after his death aged 56 was the Princess Royal, that least showy and no-nonsense member of the Royal family.

“It doesn’t say who he served with,” the Princess commented as she studied his headstone. “56? I’m surprised he lasted so long.”

Mr Davies ushered her along. “We’ve got to hit the hill now, ma’am,” he said. “Don’t worry, I live on the side of a hill,” came the reply as the Princess ploughed on, stopping to study several other graves along the way.

“Oh, it’s a Sherwood Forester, well, well well,” she said, pausing by one that she was keen to point out to her husband.

When Mr Davies told the Princess that he had queued for 14 hours to see her late mother, Elizabeth II, lying in rest, it prompted a discussion about the merits of certain footwear.

The Princess admitted that the boots that form part of the Blues and Royals uniform were none too comfortable. “Which is why I didn’t volunteer to walk after the Coronation, I was riding,” she laughed.

Later, the Princess and Sir Tim retired for a private lunch at Dover Castle before moving on to the next engagement.

Meanwhile, those who had enjoyed her company that morning were unanimous in their praise.

“She’s got common sense running through her like Brighton Rock,” one said. “But she’s enormous fun and absolutely interested and engaged. One couldn’t hope for a better patron.”

[catt-nuevenor]

And what does dance happily lead us onto?

Why, something to dance to of course, Music!

Drums are a given, so we can tick that off and add it to the repertoire, but what about melody?

May I introduce you all to the Germanic Harp:

Reconstruction of the instrument found at the Sutton Hoo burial, from the 7th century CE (Image public domain)

Now, I know, I know, there are going to be quite a few folks who will say; 'That's not a harp, that's a lyre!'

No, respectfully, that is a harp. Let me explain...

The word Lyre comes from the ancient Greek word λύρᾱ (lúrā).

This is a Lyre from ancient Greece:

Attic white-ground Lekythos, 440-430 BC (wiki public domain image).

Note the features of the instrument, and how it differs from the Germanic Harp.

Now, when I say 'harp', I imagine many folks think I'm talking about this sort of thing:

Today, this is commonly known as the Celtic Harp. (Image courtesy of JackGavin wikipedia)

Here's where the etymology gets sticky. The Proto-Celtic peoples had a few competing words for what this might be called. One is Cruit in Gaelic, or what later became Crwth in Welsh, though the Crwth is a bowed rather than a plucked instrument. You also have Tiompán though this is thought to be more akin to a lyre than the above configuration. One of the more widely back names is clársach or clársearch from clár or kláro in Proto-Celtic meaning 'board'.

Etymological Dictionary of Proto-Celtic

By the by, just because I lack an appropriate segway to squeeze this in:

Peace Panel from the Standard of Ur, dating back to sometime around 2500 BCE (Image courtesy of the British Museum)

This is known as an Ur Lyre, though it was probably called something entirely different.

The Queen's Lyre, from the Royal Cemetery at Ur C. 2500 BCE (Image courtesy of Osama Shukir Muhammed Amin wikipedia)

Right, after all of that, shall we get back to our Harp?

Harp, from the Proto-Germanic word Harpǭ meaning literally Harp, from Hrapōną meaning 'to touch, strum'. And for my usual run down:

Old High German - Harfa

Old Norse - Harpa

Old English - Hearpe

Old Gothic - ??

For two ideas of how the Germanic Harp might have been played, may I point you towards these two videos:

Trossigen Saxon Lyre - 6th Century (Yes I know they call it a Lyre, just let me have the etymological history on this one please)

Germanic Lyre Tutorial- rapid rhythm (Mind this video's volume, it is very quiet, make sure you turn your volume down again before you watch anything else)

There you are, a slightly muddled look at the Germanic Harp and why it is not a Lyre.

[sidhewrites]

23! Everything is lovely! Kaz and Lucy get to go on a proper date, and we get some lovely halloween fun. Nothing goes wrong at the end of this chapter, don't even worry about it.

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For the next few days, I stand at my window, staring at the spot behind the church where I know Magnus's bones lay. I can't see it well from my vantage point, and I don't know what I'm looking for, but it doesn't matter. Nothing happens. Magnus is gone, sealed in a jar at the bottom of his grave -- hopefully for the rest of eternity.

Renfield is fine. Despite being pure white, and occasionally appearing to glow, he's back to his old self, snoring and purring and meeping in the hopes that I'd give him some cold cuts or catnip -- which I do anyway, since he's old and arthritic again, and deserves the best for however long he has left. I'm thinking of talking to Mr. Ngo about purchasing a plot in the cemetery for him. It's expensive and stupid, but I'd want him buried next to Lucy when he goes.

Lucy meanwhile, is getting stronger and stronger each day. Though she still can't exist in this world when the sun is up, she can occasionally manipulate physical objects and leave the cemetery for longer and longer before feeling weak.

She doesn't have any telekinesis just yet, which disappoints her more than she wants to let on, but I know exactly what that little pout means. For three hours straight, we sat in the graveyard together. I nursed my first cup of coffee slowly as she stared hard at the second, hoping to at least tip it over. In the end, though, nothing happened until I lifted it myself and drank it down.

"Mmmm," I said. "Ghost coffee." And then, because I was restless and stupid, I said, "You wanna go out with me? Like -- as a couple?"

She looks at me with her big brown eyes, and I think a bit of color rises in her pale face. "Oh?"

"Yeah. You know, maybe." I shrug. "There's this Halloween carnival-fest-thing in two days. You know, on actual Halloween. I thought it would be fun if I could take you out and show you the sights, and you could tell me the history of carnival games and food and stuff."

"Ah..." She hesitates, looking down at her gown -- the same one she's worn for 150 years.

"Don't worry about the costume. I'll wear something to match. Yeah?"

She looks up at me again, and smiles. "Yeah."

#

The sun is still high in the sky as the carnival opens up. Kids run around in costume, playing games to win stuffed animals or waiting in line for the rides. Black and orange bunting stretches over the streets leading into the picnic area just past the treeline of Sutton Regional Forest. [Describe the fun stuff]

I've never felt better. After a shower, and a serious nap, I don a black suit and tied a cape around my neck. "Bleh bleh bleh," I say to my reflection, striking a most dramatic and spooky vampire pose, before racing down to load up on caffeine. It's the last night Lucy will be able to leave the graveyard in a while, and I intend to make it perfect.

She's waiting for me at the edge of the graveyard, her black veil thrown over her face. She looks like a wraith in the afternoon light, and I glance down to see how sturdy she is. Despite appearing solid as anyone else, there's a slight translucence to the hem of her gown. I hope she's able to maintain a form in this world long enough to last until the costume parade if nothing else. Childish as it is, I want to walk down Main Street holding her hand, looking like a couple for all the world to see.

"What is this?" I say with my poor attempt at a Dracula voice. "An innocent maiden, so far from home at this hour of..." I glance up at the late afternoon sun. "Day?" My words are garbled around the plastic fangs in my mouth, and she laughs.

"You'll have to do better than that," she says. "I'm afraid it's not quite easy to suck my blood."

"Oh no?" I ask, and waggle my eyebrows. "Then I shall simply have to steal you away to my castle!" She giggles, and I strike another dramatic pose, before holding out the various things I've brought. "You ready?"

"I know what those are." She points at the two plastic jack-o-lantern buckets hanging from my wrist. "But I'm at a loss for the rest."

"Perfect. Sit down, let me learn you Halloween."

She raises an eyebrow, but does so, arranging herself prettily on the nearest bench. I dump my various things next to her and present them one by one -- a slap bracelet, glow-in-the-dark vampire fangs that somehow always taste like dental cement, a tiny knife that fills with blood if you squeeze the handle, and her favorite -- a little ghost key-chain makes ghost noises and ominous music whenever you press the button. It seems to take all her strength not to reach out and grab it, so I press the button a number of times, filling the air with ghostly wailing and organ music, as well as Lucy's laughing.

Finally, music starts echoing out from the fairgrounds in downtown, and I grin. "Come on. Let's go trick-or-treating."

Lucy sticks close to me, but I make sure to give the crowd a wide berth as we make our way to the fair grounds, leaving no chances of someone accidentally walking through her. I probably look crazy, laughing and talking to myself, but I don't care. Lucy is here, taking in the sights, awestruck and overjoyed at every little thing. We barely make it past the balloon arch before she stops to point out a feat of modern engineering -- the extension cord.

"These have always amazed me," she says. "Not only can you generate or harness electricity, but you can keep pushing it further and further away from the source. Isn't that amazing?"

It is. She is.

We make our way through the streets slowly, skirting around the carnival rides that have probably been in operation longer than I've been alive. Our first stop is a food stand, decorated in autumnal reds and oranges.

"Anything I can get for you two?" the worker asks, and Lucy looks at me in shocked delight.

I nod at her, having no explanation as to why he can see her, but not wanting to question a good thing. We find a bench a small ways away from the crowd.

"These have always looked so delicious," Lucy says, and watches closely as I take a bite. It's a little weird, but it's worth it to let her live the modern Halloween dream, vicariously or otherwise.

"They're amazing. I love them. I nearly ruined my braces one year because I got away from my parents and stole one from the booth."

"You're a veritable criminal. What's it taste like?"

"Well, I mean. It's a caramel apple. It's, uh..." I frown, trying to figure out if caramel would be different now than it used to be. It's just fancy, goopy sugar, right? Plus a load of high-fructose corn syrup, I guess. "It's sweet and gooey on the outside. You know, caramel. And the apple's sour underneath, and crunchy. It's two completely different things, but they come together into something awesome. Kind of like us." It's the cheesiest thing anyone has ever said in the history of the world, and I can't help but cringe as soon as it's out of my mouth.

But Lucy only laughs. "Just so."

Her dark eyes shine as she looks out at the fair. The Jack o lanterns grimacing, the kids running around and laughing. Electricity and music and fun. After I finish the apple, we just walk around, Lucy pointing out things she recognizes and giving me a brief history, or asking me about things she doesn't know. I list off no shortage of video game characters running past us, kids dressed up as heroes and monsters hyped up on sugar and fun. The last of the sun's rays dip behind the horizon, and the electric lights fill the world with a hundred different colors.

[Lucy is enamored with it all, westruck and almost alive in the warm carnival lights.]

She's so beautiful in the moment that I forget myself and reach out, thinking to tilt her face towards me and kiss her. Of course, the second my hand brushes against her chin, a bolt of frozen dread shoots down my spine, and I flinch back with a yelp. 

Lucy looks over, trying and failing not to laugh as she apologizes.

"No, no, that was dumb of me. I forgot for a minute."

"What were you thinking? You know you can't touch me."

I shake off the heebie-jeebies, and shrug, keenly aware of how hot my face had suddenly become. "I was just thinking about how gorgeous you are when you get excited, and that I really wanted to kiss you."

A faint pink blooms across her cheeks, the only color in a sea of grayscale, and I grin like an idiot. "Come on," I say. "Let me take you trick-or-treating."

We follow a small crowd from shop-front to shop-front. Lucy grins, shouting Trick or Treat every time and watching our little pumpkin buckets fill up with candy bars and goodies. I put a vampire sticker on my bucket and show it off. We're acting like kids, but I don't care. It's fun, and she's laughing, and it's all I can do to stop myself from kissing her again and again and again.

Hours later, we've gone through a small maze of hay-bales, entered and lost a costume contest, and applauded as a flash mob performed a few dances in the middle of the food area. I took her to the row of carnival games next, featuring a mix of new games with basket balls and water guns, and, much to her delight, more traditional games. Lucy makes a beeline for the milk bottles, and tells me the rules even if I already know them.

"You want me to win you a prize? Go on, pick your favorite."

She beams, and looks over the rows of stuffed animals to win. "That one," she says, indicating a teddy bear dressed up like a vampire on the top row. It's at least two feet tall.

"As you wish," I say, and pay the nice man to play. I know the games are rigged, but I don't care. I'm too strong and too stubborn to do anything but make a show of winding up my first ball, and tossing it -- only to miss the pyramid of milk bottles entirely.

Lucy laughs.

"Right. Okay. Just warming up. This one's gonna do it, first try." I throw again, but it goes wide once more, hitting the back of the game booth with a soft thunk.

"Come on, Kaz. You've got this."

"I've got this," I say, with confidence I don't deserve. It's the last ball, and I close one eye, doing my best to focus on the target, and not the beautiful woman next to me bouncing on the balls of her feet, watching me with all the earnestness and support in the world.

I pull my arm back. I breathe out. I aim.

I throw.

And miss.

Lucy cheers uncertainly.

I play three more games, determined to get Lucy the vampire bear, but in the end, my biceps mean nothing when my aim is shit. I managed to hit one single bottle of the top of the pyramid, and win a little palm-sized Frankenstein instead. I pout when I take it, even if Lucy makes a show of cooing over it to make me feel better.

As it gets closer to midnight, we make our way to the outer limits of the fair now, walking together with the spoils of the night. Candy, stickers, key chains, and little Frankenstein. Lucy recounts the plot of the actual book to me, and I tell her about the various movies and how Boris Karloff basically shaped what we see as Frankenstein today.

It's cold out now. I shiver every now and then, but Lucy is untouched by the cold as always.

[sitting on a bench Somehow she hands something to Lucy, who feels brave enough to try touching something, only for it to not work.]

"Ah..." she hesitates, hand still outstretched as we look at the toy, sitting askew on the bench between us. It's a sad sight. "It seems the veil can only thin so far." There's such a forced lightness in her voice that I feel something tugging in my chest.

Nothing can ruin this night for her. Not even little toy Frankenstein. I pick him up and manipulate the doll into doing a silly little dance, while putting on a stupid voice and singing an old show tune.

When her laugh doesn't convince me, I reach out with my free hand to put it over hers. She may not be able to interact with the rest of the world, but I'll give her as much as I possibly can. But rather than phasing through and suffering from a bout of heebie-jeebies, my hand rests gently on top of hers. It's not quite solid, something fragile and barely there, but it's her hand, tangible and real. "Oh," I say.

"Oh," she agrees.

 My face burns, and I look up to meet her gaze. Her brown eyes, nearly black in the low light, looking right back into mine.

My stomach twists in an anxious, hesitant joy as I start to lean forward. My heart leaps in my throat. Lucy leans forward as well, lips beginning to part. My stomach flips again.

My stomach twists into knots.

I turn away just before it turns itself inside out, and I vomit into the ground. Black bile splatters on my shoes, and the smell makes me heave all over again.

I look up miserably, thinking to make a joke about eating too much sugar -- but my mouth moves of its own free will, with words that aren't my own. "Well," it says. "It's about time I got a handle on things around here."

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[spookyspaghettisundae]

Recording Ends

The following transcript is composed from the first audio file recovered from a personal device of Olivia K. Sutton, resident of Bennett City. As of the writing of this transcript, she is reported missing.

[ “New Recording” starts. ]

My name is Olivia K. Sutton. I am switching to audio recordings because writing this all out will take too long to document my search, and my camera stopped working after being exposed to water in the Longhorn Hills Memorial Cemetery. I need to know that I am leaving clues behind in case I disappear like the rest of them.

Ever since the entire school bus of children went missing in Longhorn Hills, I have been looking for my son, Nathan. I have yet to find any evidence that would… make any sense. At least any sense in the conventional understanding of sense.

It seems impossible that a bus could go missing in a place it could not very well drive into. A place it was never meant to be in the first place. Not that anybody would believe me without proof.

And I am feeling increasingly paranoid that this entire disaster is being covered up. The video I uploaded was taken down, and I can’t get any answer on why exactly that was.

I don’t know who to turn to or trust anymore.

All I know is that there is a strange history of people disappearing in Longhorn Hills. I learned of this in my visit to the Longhorn Hills Historical Society, and I am now fully convinced that the circumstances surrounding everything can only be described as…

Unnatural.

Following the last known location of the missing bus to the Longhorn Hills Memorial Cemetery, I encountered strange glowing writing that was only visible on video recordings, and I heard the singing of a children’s choir in the distance. This lured me to a mausoleum in the center of the cemetery, where I was visited by… ghouls, I guess. I do not know what else to call them, so I will be calling them ghouls from here on out.

They spoke to me, and I was too terrified to follow what must have been empty and false promises. They claimed that Nathan was with them, which I refuse to believe. I managed to escape the creatures by crossing water from the flooding, which the ghouls did or could not follow me across.

Ever since, I have been plagued by awful hallucinations. I know others in the region have been suffering the same. The authorities attribute it to a chemical leak from a local plant, but I am not convinced. Just like the haunted looks on the face of any police officers I’ve talked to in person, everything they say to placate us rings hollow.

I think it’s all part of a larger cover-up. Contrary to what you might be thinking now, I don’t hope to find proof of that. If there is a conspiracy covering up all these strange events, I don’t want anything to do with that. I don’t want to put myself or anybody else in danger.

I just want to find Nathan.

All I know for sure is that there must be a connection between the unnatural phenomena and the children’s disappearing. This is what guided me back into Longhorn Hills, and to the Historical Society, which is something like a combination between a museum and a library, a repository of all the local community’s collective art and history. Like a few other places in town, it had been spared from the flood because of its location on one of the wooded hills in the area.

The rain has finally stopped, and it has been days since the flood in Longhorn Hills. I was going a little bit stir crazy at home but also dreaded going out again. I was staying away from alcohol and any medication, hoping to keep my head clear. Wherever I looked, I expected to see those slimy, black figures with their white-glowing dots for eyes. Instead, I only saw empty spaces where my son should have been. His chair at the table, his room, his favorite spot on the carpet in front of the TV…

My hallucinations turned those shadows of him into those creatures, whispering to me from the dark, and only vanishing whenever I turned on the lights.

His dad has been calling me, but I have not been picking up. He probably still has no clue about the incident and was just going to beg for money, anyway. Even if he knew, what on Earth was I going to tell him, anyway?

The drive into Longhorn Hills was… eerie. Desolate. Debris littered all roads, and several homes and businesses looked abandoned, even after the flood had cleared. Watermarks staining all structures showed me just how high the flood had reached, and I now consider myself lucky in having gotten out of town that day when I did. There were no fatalities, but plenty of people had been trapped in the top levels of those buildings overnight.

If I had been isolated on some building in the middle of a flood, after the ghouls, and the leeches, I would have lost my mind.

It was like there… it was like there was something else, darker, in the flood’s muddy waters. The stains themselves were like afterimages, ghosts of something buried. I have had recurring nightmares of water since that day. Fleeting in the details, but I always remembered murky waters right after waking up. Not drowning in them—followed by them. Seeing the water stains dredged up the same uneasy feeling those nightmares had been leaving me with.

According to the news, the flood had flushed out and displaced some of the cemetery’s bodies, washing them into town. I have purposely avoided looking into this for now. I have given up on listening to any public statements anyway, for reasons I already mentioned.

The curator at the Historical Society, Mister Holt, is a kindly elderly man dressed in a brown tweed suit. Exactly what you would expect from such a place, in such a town. He was surprisingly spry and helpful, patiently answering all my questions and helping me conduct my research.

Though I didn’t reveal to him what I had been through all week, I could read the doubts on his face, and I knew that my trauma from encountering the unnatural events in the cemetery had taken a heavy toll on me. I suspect that he knew I was one of the mothers of the missing children. Maybe that’s why he was so nice.

That toll… whatever he saw… maybe it is PTSD, coupled with the hallucinations, that make my demeanor so haunted. I can see it in the mirror every morning. I look like I haven’t been sleeping, and I sure as hell feel that way. Looking for ways to quickly escape any place I visit, and feeling watched by shadows, always flitting out of sight whenever I turn. He must have seen it.

The Historical Society’s archives were far more extensive than I had expected, and my research began to paint an unsettling picture.

Longhorn Hills was built upon the riches of Alden Spice. I know, I know. Funny name. But the town’s history was anything but funny.

Spice was a prospector who first discovered gold in the local rivers. As with many gold rush boomtowns, an entire population cropped up out of nowhere as other prospectors flocked there on his heels. They named the place after the abundance of longhorns in the region.

Alden Spice got rich off the gold he found, but nobody else in Longhorn Hills would ever strike out as lucky as he had. Nobody ever discovered any concrete source. Likely, the gold came from elsewhere, washed downstream or something. There are only loose theories.

Spice helped fund many local businesses in the early days of the town, owing another part of his explosive growth in wealth to these investments. Longhorn Hills flourished in its early days, drawing droves of new prospectors and farmers and other folk whose hearts were filled with hope for the future.

All they found was misery instead. That explosive growth in Spice’s wealth continued unabated while the town’s growth floundered.

Beyond his investments in and around town, prospectors found something else instead of gold: they chanced upon coal. Spice, who then had already become the mayor of Longhorn Hills, got in early on coal mining while his rivals were all still burning through their funds to find gold. Spice would end up making a killing on the coal mining business, watching while all his rivals bankrupted themselves into oblivion.

Together with several cattle ranches, Mayor Spice was quickly found sitting on a sizable number of properties and an abundance of wealth. That earned him the nickname of “Lucky Spice”. Meanwhile, articles from the time suggest that the rest of Longhorn Hills was impoverished and miserable. Numerous people were working themselves to the bone in those coal mines and on those ranches, and the wealth pretty much only wound up in the mayor’s coffers and the manor of Lucky Spice.

Things changed after the arrival of Enoch Bell; a Baptist missionary whose fellowship grew as quickly in the squalor of Longhorn Hills as Spice’s riches had grown off the fat of the land. Neither Bell nor the other parishioners ever said it publicly, but I find it likely that some of them had been slandering Spice as a devil-worshiper, feeding into the fact that the magnate never attended church. Some accounts say that townsfolk of Longhorn Hills were arrested for libeling Spice as a witch or warlock, having traded his soul for wealth.

There’s even an unflattering painting in the Historical Society that someone made of Spice that suggests as much. In this rendition, he looks like evil incarnate. The brim of his pitch-black hat looks as sharp as a steel blade, the red on his shirt is drenched in blood dripping from the hat’s edges, and there is a sinister fire in his eyes, almost distracting from a small pentagram on the amulet around his neck.

While I was studying that painting, my hallucinations caught up to me again. Lights started flickering and inexplicably going out throughout the archives. A thin sheen of water covered the cement floors, and I was worried that the rains and flood had returned, when I saw Nathan, standing in the shadows. His eyes glowed bright white, like tiny dots, staring back at me.

He asked me why it was taking so long to come home after work. He said he was hungry and frightened because the power and lights had gone out. Every word came out as a whisper, though it also looked and sounded like hundreds of moths flapping their wings.

His presence felt… so real. I knew it couldn’t be, and fear held far greater sway over me than any motherly instincts. Still, I feel bad that I ran away from this… this thing, rather than towards it. Even if it wasn’t Nathan, shouldn’t I have been there for him?

I bumped into the curator in my panic. That broke the hallucinations somehow. He had brought me more material from other parts of the archives to help complete my picture of the town’s history.

The water, the ghost, none of it was really there. Just in my head.

Anyway, I digress. The history of Longhorn Hills.

One night in 1858, an angry mob of fanatics became responsible for the biggest crime in the town’s history. In the “Night of Fire”, as it was reported in Bennett City papers, these people lynched several dozen innocent souls, accusing them of consorting with Alden Spice and the Devil himself. Countless lives were ended by hanging, drowning, or being burnt alive. With the intent of inflicting upon Spice that same fate, the lynch mob marched upon his manor that night.

A riot of rumors say that they found him alone and dead in his home, bled out in his office after having slit his own throat with a knife. His desk and walls were supposedly all painted in occult symbols, using his own blood. The mob burnt down Spice’s entire estate that night, leaving no trace of the event, and erasing anything that might have backed up those rumors. It is also possible that they murdered him.

Many more innocent people died tragically in the spread of uncontrolled fires, burning down several buildings in town. Other lives and homes were spared by a sudden rainstorm, causing a flood in Longhorn Hills which also claimed more lives. A once-in-a-millennium kind of event, they had believed back then.

Though it would take considerable time to mitigate all damage from deaths, fire, and flood combined, the community of Longhorn Hills in the 1860s recovered, owed in part to the coal mine reopening mere days after the calamity.

Many people had disappeared from Longhorn Hills after that frightful night, either having moved away, or vanished inexplicably. Speculations point to several having evaded lawmen, dodging responsibility for the actions of the lynch mob. No records exist to name anybody responsible in the killings, nobody claimed to know the people responsible by name, nor was any justice ever meted for the incident.

To make penance for the horrors of that dark night, Enoch Bell washed his hands clean by claiming that the church had neither instigated nor condoned such actions. Under his leadership, the town instead established the Memorial Cemetery out in the woods, where the church spent weeks consecrating the grounds. Many graves set up there were empty, serving as reminders to the people lost in the Night of Fire.

In the center of the cemetery now stands the Longhorn Hills Baptists Mausoleum, in which Bell was eventually interred, alongside many other parishioners.

That had to be the same place. Where the ghouls had chased me from.

I do not know or understand how all these things are connected, but I know deep down that they are somehow. Everything—all the events—they feel like symbols, rhyming and repeating across time. Rain and floods, disappearances. Occult symbols, either painted in blood, or glowing in ways that human eyes cannot see.

Are these angry, hungry ghosts? Bound here by tragedy and inhuman crimes? I cannot say for sure. Why would they abduct an entire school bus of innocent children? It made so little sense, and yet… it felt like I had assembled the edges of a jigsaw puzzle. The picture in the center was still missing, but the rest fit together.

I had already started looking into more recent accounts, from the twentieth century, regarding any people going missing in Longhorn Hills, when my research was interrupted.

The sheen of water on the floors had returned, albeit deeper this time. Probably an inch of it at this point, as if it was gradually rising. I only noticed because of the freezing cold of my feet, tearing me out of my concentration, and how I felt how my socks and shoes were soaking wet.

The water was brackish in color and appearance. Brown and muddy, like the flood water I had crossed to escape the cemetery. In this water, too, worms were wriggling beneath the murky surface. And a choir of whispers sounded like children had invaded the library, punctuated by eerie giggles.

I expected to see the ghoulish apparition of Nathan somewhere, but instead stumbled into the curator.

But it wasn’t really the curator at all. It was… something that wore his tweed suit, only the suit was sagging, and littered with holes where the fabric was coming apart. And rather than skin, this thing masquerading as Holt was made of crumbling clay. A gaping black hole was all I could see in place of what should have been his face, with moths crawling out from its impossible depths, fluttering away, and crowding around the lights of the Historical Society.

I fled. I’m not proud of it, but I fled. I could not tell if the hallucinations were clashing with reality. I could not tell if I had hurt the kindly Mister Holt by pushing him in my escape. I pushed very hard to get past that figure.

(Olivia Sutton audibly sighs here.)

On the ride back to Bennett City, images flashed before my eyes, suggesting that I had seen blood. My gun, on the passenger seat, still contained all of its bullets. Had I hurt Mister Holt? I am too terrified to find out, and I will call the Historical Society right now to find out, and then the police if I get no answer.

I cannot keep doing this alone. I need help. I need someone who can help me tell reality and these hallucinations apart. I am not entirely convinced about them being hallucinations, or the result of some chemical leak. I feel like I know the truth is hiding in the shadows between reality and… this. All of this. This… other world.

But who can I turn to now?

[ “New Recording” ends. ]

[nade2308]

GIFS AND EDITS MASTERLIST POST 8

Previous masterlists: one || two || three || four || five || six || seven || Whumptober 2023 masterlist || Febuwhump 2024 masterlist || Whumpgifathon 2024 masterlist || Whumptober 2024 masterlist

Invasion 2005

Not so subtle Tom (1x04)

These two (1x05): part 1 || part 2

Russ and Tom with Rose (1x14)

Boys in the backseat of Tom's patrol car (1x14): part 1 || part 2

Russ being held at gunpoint by Derek (1x16) + bonus gif

Tom and Russ talking (1x17): part 1 || part 2

Russ observing Tom (1x17)

Tom and Russ fighting (1x19): part 1 || part 2 || part 3

Tom and Russ + the call from Szura (1x19): part 1 || part 2 || part 3

Tom and Russ talking before the trip starts (1x20)

Rainy boys (1x20): part 1 | part 2 || part 3

Tom bringing Larkin to the water + Russ and Mariel finding him there (1x22): part 1 || part 2

The dads TM: part 1 || part 2

Exhausted Tom (1x13): part 1 || part 2

Tom being interrogated (1x22)

Crossing Lines

Carl and Amanda kissing (2x09)

Mom

Bonnie holding Adam (7x08): part 1 || part 2 || part 3

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2014

Footage from when the turtles were injected with the mutagen

Eric and the Shredder: part 1 || part 2

Eric and April (after the speech)

The speech: part 1 || part 2

Rosewood

Team Captain for the win + a very confused Sophie

Ryan pulling Ira into a hug (2x05): part 1 || part 2

Go on and write me up for 125 cover edit

Ryan choking the suspect (2x08)

Home Economics

Marina's impish dream

The follow up

Tom's dream

Third Watch

Scars (2x04)

Jimmy in pain (2x04): part 1 || part 2

Shower (2x04)

Criminal Minds

Hot shower boy

Prison Break

Cemetery imps (2x01)

Stabby imps (3x04): part 1 || part 2

A Study in Blue: part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4

Alex going back to Sona (3x09)

Smart Alex (2x01)

Alex calling Michael from county jail

The pen (3x04)

Sad and desperate Alex - phone call with Pam (2x11): part 1 || part 2 || part 3

Reflection (2x02)

Alex comforting Michael: part 1 || part 2

Pam and Alex (4x05): part 1 || part 2 || part 3

A Christmas Mystery

Cozy imps

CSI: Miami

H and Ryan (6x02)

Ryan and baby (3x12)

Blood Drive

Sleepy Arthur

Blue Bloods

Danny and Lt. Sutton first meeting: part 1 || part 2

Just a simple conversation: part 1 || part 2

Father and son

Reacher on Prime

Jack and O'D with Russo in the car (2x03)

TMNT 2k3

Leo being zapped

Raph being zapped

Above the shadows

Just some older gifs: part 1 || part 2

MDs

Stealing our hearts like it's his day job

[aisphotostuff]

Sutton Valence village Kent by Adam Swaine Via Flickr: Sutton Valence is a village about five miles SE of Maidstone, Kent, England on the A274 road going south to Headcorn and Tenterden. It is on the Greensand Ridge overlooking the Vale of Kent and Weald.. A lovely historic village high above the Kentish Weald, Sutton Valence must have been settled as early as Roman times. A Roman road runs through the parish and a Roman cemetery has been found nearby. An intriguing historical mystery is provided by the name of a playing field known as Bloody Mountain. This name is thought to be a reference to a Saxon battle fought at the site. At the time of the Norman invasion, the estate was held by Leofwine Godwinson, half-brother of King Harold. William the Conqueror granted the estate to his own half-brother, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux. At the time of the Domesday Book, there was a church here, possibly built of stone. At that time the village was known simply as 'Sutton'; the 'Valence' part was to come later

[lboogie1906]

Garlington Jerome “G. J.” Sutton (June 22, 1909 - June 22, 1976) was the first African American official elected from San Antonio.

He attended Wiley College but earned his BS from Wilberforce University. He gains a BS in Mortuary Science from Cincinnati College.

He joined his brother to operate Sutton and Sutton Mortuary. The mortuary is still in business today. He founded Gates of Heaven Memorial Gardens Cemetery in San Antonio.

He served as a delegate to the 1960 Democratic National Convention. When the Texas House of Representatives redrew their districts in 1972, he became the first African American official elected in San Antonio. He served in that capacity until his death. With the encouragement of his best friend Rev. Claude Black, his wife Lou Nelle Sutton ran and succeeded her husband in the Texas House of Representatives.

There is a Federal building named in his honor, which is located in San Antonio. It is on the outskirts of downtown at 321 N. Center St. It has become an office building for the Health and Human Service Commission. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 11.11 (after 1920)

1921 – The Tomb of the Unknowns is dedicated by US President Warren G. Harding at Arlington National Cemetery. 1923 – Adolf Hitler is arrested in Munich for high treason for his role in the Beer Hall Putsch. 1926 – The United States Numbered Highway System is established. 1930 – Patent number US1781541 is awarded to Albert Einstein and Leó Szilárd for their invention, the Einstein refrigerator. 1934 – The Shrine of Remembrance is opened in Melbourne, Australia. 1940 – World War II: In the Battle of Taranto, the Royal Navy launches the first all-aircraft ship-to-ship naval attack in history. 1940 – World War II: The German auxiliary cruiser Atlantis captures top secret British mail from the Automedon, and sends it to Japan. 1942 – World War II: France's zone libre is occupied by German forces in Case Anton. 1942 – The Turkish parliament passes the Varlık Vergisi, a capital tax mostly levied on non-Muslim citizens with the unofficial aim to inflict financial ruin on them and end their prominence in the country's economy. 1960 – A military coup against President Ngô Đình Diệm of South Vietnam is crushed. 1961 – Thirteen Italian Air Force servicemen, deployed to the Congo as a part of the UN peacekeeping force, are massacred by a mob in Kindu. 1962 – Kuwait's National Assembly ratifies the Constitution of Kuwait. 1965 – Southern Rhodesia's Prime Minister Ian Smith unilaterally declares the colony independent as the unrecognised state of Rhodesia. 1965 – United Air Lines Flight 227 crashes at Salt Lake City International Airport, killing 43. 1966 – NASA launches Gemini 12. 1967 – Vietnam War: In a propaganda ceremony in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, three American prisoners of war are released by the Viet Cong and turned over to "new left" antiwar activist Tom Hayden. 1968 – Vietnam War: Operation Commando Hunt initiated. The goal is to interdict men and supplies on the Ho Chi Minh trail, through Laos into South Vietnam. 1972 – Vietnam War: Vietnamization: The United States Army turns over the massive Long Binh military base to South Vietnam. 1975 – Australian constitutional crisis of 1975: Australian Governor-General Sir John Kerr dismisses the government of Gough Whitlam, appoints Malcolm Fraser as caretaker Prime Minister and announces a general election to be held in early December. 1975 – Independence of Angola. 1977 – A munitions explosion at a train station in Iri, South Korea kills at least 56 people. 1981 – Antigua and Barbuda joins the United Nations. 1992 – The General Synod of the Church of England votes to allow women to become priests. 1993 – A sculpture honoring women who served in the Vietnam War is dedicated at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. 1999 – The House of Lords Act is given Royal Assent, restricting membership of the British House of Lords by virtue of a hereditary peerage. 2000 – Kaprun disaster: One hundred fifty-five skiers and snowboarders die when a cable car catches fire in an alpine tunnel in Kaprun, Austria. 2001 – Journalists Pierre Billaud, Johanne Sutton and Volker Handloik are killed in Afghanistan during an attack on the convoy they are traveling in. 2002 – A Fokker F27 Friendship operating as Laoag International Airlines Flight 585 crashes into Manila Bay shortly after takeoff from Ninoy Aquino International Airport, killing 19 people. 2004 – New Zealand Tomb of the Unknown Warrior is dedicated at the National War Memorial, Wellington. 2006 – Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II unveils the New Zealand War Memorial in London, United Kingdom, commemorating the loss of soldiers from the New Zealand Army and the British Army. 2012 – A strong earthquake with the magnitude 6.8 hits northern Burma, killing at least 26 people. 2014 – Fifty-eight people are killed in a bus crash in the Sukkur District in southern Pakistan's Sindh province. 2022 – Russo-Ukrainian War: Ukrainian armed forces enter the city of Kherson following a successful two-month southern counteroffensive.

[blueiscoool]

Student Finds Six Roman Pots During Community Dig

A third-year archaeology student at the University of Leicester, Davidson Copeland, has unearthed six complete Roman pots. This find occurred during Copeland’s first excavation, part of a community dig at Chester House Estate near Irchester, Northamptonshire. Chester House Estate is known for containing one of Britain’s best-preserved Roman small towns.

The excavation, conducted in June 2023, revealed the pots at the bottom of a deep pit in the suburbs of the ancient Roman town of Irchester. The careful placement of these items suggests they were intentionally positioned, possibly for practical uses such as money boxes or religious offerings, as indicated by holes in some of the pots.

The collection includes beakers, a small flagon, two jars, and a second-century CE Samian ware bowl, identified by archaeological ceramic specialist Dr. Adam Sutton from Aurelius Archaeology. The Samian ware bowl, a type of red-gloss Roman pottery mass-produced from the 1st century BC to the 3rd century CE, bears a stamp marking its maker as Dexter, who was active in central France around CE 130.

Professor Sarah Scott, a lead archaeologist at the site and professor of archaeology at the University of Leicester, said: “It was an incredible experience for our student Davidson, and we are very proud of his efforts,” she said. “The successful excavation was the result of exceptional teamwork and expert guidance. This fascinating discovery has generated huge interest and excitement amongst team members and visitors alike.”

The Chester House Estate, owned by North Northamptonshire Council, is an important archaeological site. The ongoing excavations aim to reveal more about the lives of the inhabitants of this ancient Roman town by uncovering houses, workshops, and cemeteries. The collaboration between the University of Leicester and the North Northamptonshire Council through the Irchester Field School offers opportunities for people of all ages to engage in archaeological investigations.

Professor Scott added: “It is fantastic for our students and Chester House Estate volunteers to have the opportunity to work together at this nationally significant site. The pots provide a tangible link to the past but have also sparked new friendships and a sense of community in the present.”

his year’s excavation has already commenced and will continue until July 12, 2024. Visitors are encouraged to visit the site during the ongoing investigations to witness the excavations in progress and interact with the archaeology team.

The pots will be displayed at Chester House Estate’s Roman Festival, scheduled for Saturday and Sunday, allowing the public to view these historical artifacts firsthand.

by Dario Radley.

[zeyalderson]

Context here:

Sutton Hoo is an Anglo-Saxon archaeological dig in England. There are several cemeteries and a ship burial.

Knock knock!